Unbidden
by Lleeo
Summary: The story of an arranged marriage between two unlikely people. Quatre meets Trowa at the age of 8 and through his gentle kindness, a young Trowa finds comfort for his bruised and defeated soul. The two form a bond that will last 13 years of seperation.
1. A Reluctant Start

A.N. Ever wonder what would happen if there was a yaoi arranged marriage? *gasp* You haven't?! Then you've come to the right place. So buckle your seatbelts, get the popcorn, and enjoy! ^_^  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. Somebody else does.  
  
Type: AU, yaoi, 3x4  
  
Warning: Uh.there's no warnings yet, but later on I may have to change the rating for some lemony goodness. ^^ ____________________________________________________________________~*~  
  
He rose from his bed long before the sun came up, slipping quietly out of his window, down the rope he kept attached to his window. It was a long climb down, but he'd done it many times before. Once his feet had touched solid ground, he slipped quietly around the castle walls toward the back stables.  
  
The small, white horse he rode was waiting for him in the giant stables. He skittered around eagerly in his stall, softly nickering. He knew, as was the routine, that every morning before the sun came up, before the castle began to stir, that his young master would come to take him out for their long ride, carrying sugar cubes and a soft touch.  
  
"Shh, Aquilla, settle down boy, if I know Rashid, he'll find out I'm gone any minute now--"  
  
"Master Quatre? Are you in here again?"  
  
"Oh no," trying to be as quick and quiet as possible, Quatre scrambled into one of the stalls as Rashid, big and burly as a giant, came into the stables.  
  
He thought he'd heard the footsteps pass, but suddenly he felt a large hand reach behind him and pull him up by the back of his shirt. He was eye to eye now with his half bodyguard, half subsitute uncle and best friend. He tried for a sweet smile, "Rashid...I was just...I was just..checking on Aquilla! That's it..I was--"  
  
Rashid was shaking his head sadly, "Uhh, Quatre~sama, what am I to do with you, you know your father would kill me if I ever let anything happen to you, you are the sole heir!"  
  
Quatre's shoulders slumped as Rashid set him down, "Stupid rule anyway," he muttered  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's always the boy that has to be ruler? Why can't it just be first born? I never get to have any fun."  
  
Rahid chuckled as he bent down to be eye level with the young heir, "Hey, how about we go for that ride, huh? It's no trouble if I go with you."  
  
Quatre tried to scowl at him, "You never wanna get up to go with me in the first place, so you never let me go!"  
  
Rashid laughed and patted Quatre's shoulder as he went to get his own horse, "You say getting up at four in the morning is a reasonable hour? Ha! Maybe for eight year old little boys with too much energy to know what to do with..."  
  
When they rode out together it was still dark, with just the faint tinge of soft pink on the horrizon. The desert was a beautiful place, it gave the illusion of being bare and lifeless, but anyone who thought that would be a fool. It overflowed with life's essence and could become a deadly enemy.  
  
Quatre's eyes lit up as he watched a jackrabbit sprint across their path. Laughing the careless laugh of an innocent child, he took off after it as it crested a hill.  
  
"Master Quatre! Get back here, you know how dangerous it is in the desert! The theives..." Rashid gave up when he realized his young master wasn't listening to a word he was saying, he wasn't even in earshot. Sighing the loudly he took off after him.  
  
By the time he caught up with his young master, the sun was already beginning to rise, painting the sky in beautiful pastel colours waking up the dull, throbbing heat of the desert. Quatre was sitting on a hill, facing the formless mounds and peaks of the nearby mountains, staring at the sun rising over the mountains. He sat with his legs straight out in front of him so his pant-legs rode up past his ankles, his hands stuck out behind him. Quatre's father demanded that the sole heir of the Winner clan be well dressed and refined at all times, but Rashid just didn't have the heart to tell Quatre to wear pants that actually fit him, and to quit wearing that scraggly vest and rumpled shirt and to sit back up straight. He got enough of that from his father. Rashid figured Arabid Baboi Winner didn't need to know what his son was wearing when he was not in his prescence.  
  
"Rashid..."  
  
"Yes Master Quatre."  
  
"Why does my father forbid me to play with the other children at the palace? I know they work there and are poor, but that doesn't matter to me."  
  
"I know it doesn't Quatre~sama, but your father believes they will be a bad influence on you."  
  
Quatre whipped toward him with such vehemence that Rashid thought he was about to attack him with claws and teeth bared, "My father is wrong!" he shouted stubbornly, "They aren't a bad influence at all, they are all of good hearts, and they actually get to have fun!" As suddenly as it had come, Quatre's anger slipped away, and a look of longing came over his sweet, boyish face. "Just once I'd like to know what it's like to have a real friend, a boy my age, not a body guard, or a horse, or 29 sisters, but an actual friend that I can sneak off and do fun things with, fun things, things that I like.  
  
Rashid merely laughed his gentle laugh, "That's quite a speech you've got there Quatre~sama. That's been building up in you a long time hasn't it?"  
  
Quatre lowered thick, golden lashes over his eyes and looked down. "Yes."  
  
Rashid put an arm around his young master, "There's no need to feel ashamed about the things you've said about your father, Quatre. I know he seems like a big, mean old ogre who forbids you to have any fun , but your father is just trying to do what's right, he has a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, sometimes it's hard for him to see that what his son needs to learn first, is how to be a child.  
  
When Quatre raised his face again, he was smiling, "I-"  
  
"QUATRE! Quatre where are you?!"  
  
They both whipped around at the same time, and were greeted by the site of Asghari racing madly toward them on her black, arabian stag, her brilliant red hair flying out behind her like fire.  
  
"Oh no, it's my sister, come to drag me off to my doom."  
  
"Now Quatre, that's no way to speak of your sister," Rashid attempted to sound stern, but ruined the affect with his broad smile, "She's really something, isn't she Master Quatre?"  
  
Quatre watched the expressions on Asghari's face change from annoyed to enraged and watched her mouth move even faster as she got closer. He knew she was yelling something at him, but he was too far away to hear what she was saying. Perhaps he didn't want to know. His sister could get herself into quite a temper when the mood struck her, and it struck her quite a bit.  
  
"Yesterday she told me she was going to sneak into my chambers while I was asleep and slay me with her sword so she could take back the title that was rightfully hers."  
  
Rashid let out a snort, watching as Asghari closed in the distance rapidly, "What about her 28 elder siblings?"  
  
"She said she'd kill them too."  
  
Asghari didn't wait for her horse to stop running but leaped off when she neared them. She started toward Quatre with deadly intent but Rashid grabbed her before she could reach him.  
  
"Where have you been?! Father has been tearing apart the palace looking for you, do you know who's waiting back in the parlour?"  
  
"Ah..."  
  
She didn't wait for him to finish, "Gosfridus Nikolaus Barton. The Gosfridus Barton, of the Barton Olaf's, the most prominent arstocrats in all of Germany! They're here, well at least Gosfridus and his son is, but that's not the point. Father told you to be up with the sun and dressed appropiately for the arrival of our royal guests, they wanted to meet you, you Quatre of all people, and what do you do? You ride off into the desert." When she was finished she stood with arms crossed, like a mother waiting for an explanation from the child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.  
  
Quatre hated it when she acted like she was so much more smarter and superior to him, like she was one of his father's minions, just because she was four years his senior didn't mean she could scream at him, "Asghari, I forgot alright? I forgot they were coming, I don't see what the big fuss is about anyway, why do they need me to be there?"  
  
Asghari's dark brown eyes flashed and she opened her mouth, but Rashid lay a hand on her shoulder, "That's enough Asghari," he stated in his soft, stern voice, "This is as much my fault as it is Quatre's, I'd forgotten they would be arriving so early as well, I will answer to your father."  
  
He met Quatre's eyes, "Your father wants to connections with the Barton family, it would be very useful for both family's to have strong connections to each other, they would both benifit greatly, your father and Gosfridus think the best way is to have he and his son stay for the summer, so that you and his son may form a bond that in later years when you are both ruling the family fortunes would keep the connection."  
  
Quatre's bleu eyes clouded over with worry, "They're staying the whole summer? But Rashid, I hate all of those stuffy rich men and their children that visit here, they're so arrogant, I can't imagine a kind word has ever passed their lips."  
  
"Come now Quatre~sama, maybe you'll finally meet that friend you were wishing for," Rashid cajoled gently while he lifted him up onto Aquilla's back, and the three of them started back through the desert toward the palace.  
  
"No," Quatre muttered quietly, "I won't." 


	2. The Magician and The Chatterer

The sun had just barely risen in the east when they got back to the palace. Quatre closed Aquilla back in his stall then promised Rashid that after he'd changed clothes, he would go down to the parlor to meet his father's guests. Quatre slowly climbed the stairs that led to a back way to his chambers, dragging his feet as much as possible; he wasn't looking forward to being the perfect hospitable host to a snobby little rich boy the whole summer. He could already hear the complaints now; "It's so hot here, who ever heard of making their home in the stupid desert of all places?" or "My father rules all of Russia, we're the richest family in all the country, my Uncle talks to the King all the time. What about your father?"  
  
"Master Quatre! Master Quatre! There you are; I've been looking all over for you!" Quatre looked back to find one of the servants rushing up the stairs toward him.  
  
"I know. I forgot my father's guests would be arriving today. I'll just go change my-"  
  
"No time now, we must hurry!" the servant grabbed Quatre by the arm and dragged him down the stairs toward the front entrance of the palace.  
  
"But...I am not dressed properly." he protested weakly as he was hauled through the front door around a corner into the large, spacious parlour.  
  
The servant stopped in the doorway and bowed deeply, I bring you your son, sire."  
  
From his position behind the servant, Quatre had a good view of the whole room, his great grandfather had loved open spaces and sunlight, so he had, had the front parlour built to be as large as a ballroom, complete with massive windows covering three walls of the room. But it wasn't the room that had caught the young boy's attention; it was the occupants of the room.  
  
His father sat regally in a huge wing backed chair, facing an elegant love seat where a huge bearded man sat squished into the cushions.  
  
Both the man and his father turned toward them, "Thank you Amir, you may leave us." his father spoke brusquely to the servant and gave Quatre a look of severe disapproval when he saw his dishevelled state, but said nothing, "Quatre my son, I am glad you were able to join us. You have not met my dear friend Gosfridus Nikolaus Barton and his son, Trowa," he gestured toward the man on the love seat and to the tall brown haired boy standing off in the shadows.  
  
Taking his cue, he obediently walked over to Gosfridus and shook his big, meaty hand. "Nice to meet you sir." he said politely, but he wasn't looking at him, he was watching the silent boy who stood behind him, near the window. His dark brown hair was swept forward over one eye, in a fashion Quatre had never seen before, but he liked the way it covered one of his dark green eyes, casting a mysterious and fascinating aura about him. He was surprised to find himself staring into not a face of haughty disdain, but a face with no expression at all. Slightly taken aback, he choked on the introduction he'd been about to make.  
  
"Quatre..." his father warned.  
  
"I...ah-"  
  
His father let out an exasperated sigh, "Why don't you show Trowa around the palace here Quatre? Show him some of the guest rooms and the such? Gosfridus and I have some important business to attend to."  
  
Quatre nodded, and regaining some of his composure turned to Trowa, "Come on Trowa, I'll show you the palace." he began to leave the room, but when he turned back, Trowa was still where he'd left him, blank face and all. What was it with this boy anyway? He'd never met a rich man's son who could be anything other than sickeningly shallow.  
  
The boy turned his head toward Gosfridus, and Quatre could have sworn he saw him give his father a furious glare, but it was gone before he was sure it was ever there. Before he knew what had happened, the boy had unattached himself from the shadows and was standing just in front of him, looking off into the grand foyer.  
  
As soon as he had closed the door he turned to him, "I don't think I properly introduced myself, I'm Quatre Raberba Winner." he held out his hand. The boy nodded his head silently and shook his hand. Wow, progress, he thought, now all I have to do is get him to talk. "Well, I don't know which guest room you'll be staying in, but I can show you the available ones upstairs, so maybe you can choose one since you're staying so long," he talked as he led Trowa up an intricately carved, winding staircase, "And I can show you the ball room if you'd like; that's where we have all our parties; we usually have most of them in the summer actually, so you'll probably be here for most of them. They all seem the same to me though, a bunch of papa's rich friends get together and congratulate themselves on being the richest people in the world. And the music room, yeah, that's one of my favourite rooms; it's really big and there's all these really cool paintings on the walls of some of my ancestors. Did you know one of my ancestors..."  
  
Trowa glanced sideways at the small blond boy and wondered if he was ever going to shut up. He'd never wanted to come here in the first place but his father had 'insisted' that it was important that he come with him. Punishment for running away from home? he wondered. Although the 31 bloody slashes on his back seemed testimony enough.  
  
"...and those stairs right there, lead up to the highest tower. Come on, I'll show you! It's really cool." His face lit up and laughing, the boy who called himself Quatre grabbed his hand and raced up the long curving steps.  
  
Trowa blinked and watched the back of his white blond head. He'd meant to keep to himself as he always did when he'd arrived at this strange place out in the middle of the Arabian desert, but he had a feeling this little Arabian boy had no intention of leaving him alone. The highest tower, he soon realized was nothing more than a bare, circular room, with a small barred window, a wooden table with two chairs, and a beautiful cushioned window seat with disarrayed blankets thrown over it. Quatre bounded into the room like a happy puppy, dropping to the ground, doing a quick somersault then leaping through the air to land on the window seat. Trowa stood by the head of the stairs, watching him wearily, this boy was crazy! He suddenly felt a need to hurry away as fast as he could down the stairs.  
  
Quatre had turned around on the seat, gazing out the small window, "I love watching the sun come up," he murmured dreamily, "it's such a pretty sight."  
  
Trowa said nothing as he edged his way across the room to the small table and slid into the seat. Maybe he'll just forget about me while he's admiring his beautiful sunrise, he thought hopefully He silently pulled out his favourite deck of cards that he kept with him for safekeeping and began to shuffle them between his small, long fingered hands.  
  
He flipped them between his hands, cutting them, dicing them, making them stand up and fit together perfectly, all in an eerie pattern. He loved this trick, loved making the cards flip so fast, all that was visible was a blur. A small, secret smile played over his lips as he watched the swirling mass of the cards turn faster and faster. He found so little joy in his life, those who knew of his father, would have scoffed at the prospect of the almighty Gosfridus's son, finding amusement in strange card games.  
  
He hadn't realized the blond boy had moved from the window seat until he felt a presence at his back. He turned his head slightly and saw the curious wonder in the boy's eyes as he gazed at his hands, moving the cards between them.  
  
"Wow!" he exclaimed, peeking over his shoulder. "How do you do that Trowa? That's amazing! Are you a magician?"  
  
"No."  
  
The single word spoken by the tall, silent boy, startled Quatre enough that he stepped back and nearly tripped over his own feet. He managed to stop himself from falling on his face, and stood there, blinking at the boy's long, slim back. "You...talked." he said wonderingly, "I thought maybe because you were so quiet that you couldn't hear that great, and maybe you couldn't talk that well..."  
  
"No." Trowa didn't turn around.  
  
Deciding not to let that deter him, Quatre skipped over to the table and plunked himself down across from him. "Hey, can you show me how to do a card trick?"  
  
Quatre waited patiently as he had been taught from childhood, watching as the boy idly shuffled through his cards, shuffling them slowly, one by one. It was amazing that he never dropped one of them. Is this, he wondered, what the sons of wealthy families did up in Germany? Learned strange card tricks?  
  
"...Can you show me how to do that?" he asked again to the boy's bent head  
  
Flip-Flip-Flip  
  
"Er...excuse me, Tr-"  
  
"Quatre! Oh, Quaaaaatre! Where are you my dear boy? It's time for your lessons!"  
  
Trowa watched as the smaller boy slumped visibly in his chair. "Aww man, I thought maybe he'd forget since we have guests." he got up from his seat. "I guess I'll see you later then, Trowa." He heard him dragging his feet as he headed for the door, then suddenly the sound of rubber scraping against wood stopped.  
  
Feeling a gentle pressure on his shoulder, he realized the blond boy had placed his hand there, "Don't think for a second that I'm gonna forget about that cool card trick, Trowa, I still want you to teach it to me." And before he even thought about turning around, the boy gave a quick; "Coming Abdul!" then skipped from the room.  
  
Trowa reached up hesitantly and touched his shoulder, feeling a warm tingling sensation run up and down his back. So few people had ever touched him in gentleness, he wasn't sure he welcomed the feel of vulnerability it brought with it. He rose from his chair quickly and crossed over to the window that looked out over the east side of the palace. A few large buildings were scattered over the landscape but the largest one had fencing nearby with actual grass and small ponds inside of it. He wondered if that was the stables. He hoped so; maybe he could find a quiet getaway to go to in one of the empty stalls. He didn't think he could stand it if anyone in this beautiful palace ever saw his face after one of his brutal encounters with his father.  
  
His decision made, he left the small tower and made his way outside. The giant stables seemed to be relatively empty, but he was glad he hadn't gone in through the front way; it had been crawling with people, some of the people he was sure worked at the palace, poor farmers, and a lot of palace workers. Having found an empty stall way at the back of the huge stables, he settled down with his special, crystaline marbles. He loved making little images appear in each clear orb, or lighting them on fire as he juggled them through the air.  
  
He leaned back in the hay and tossed five of the marbles up in the air, watching with abstract fascination as they all caught on fire and changed colours as they swirled through the air.  
  
"HREEE-he-he-he!"  
  
Momentarily startled, he dropped the marbles with a small gasp, setting the hay all around him on fire. The horse in the next stall who had stuck his head over to find the boy, was reeling back in his stall nervously, his eyes wide, letting out a frightened whinny.  
  
Feeling much like the horse at the moment he jumped up from the fast spreading fire and searched frantically for something to put it out. Finding nothing, he got down on his knees in the hay and frantically began slapping at the flaming hay pieces. He slowly chanted as he slapped at the fire, his hand movements slowly becoming more calm, soothing almost.  
  
"Blue fire, cool the flames, let them burn no higher. Blue fire, cool the flames, let them burn no higher...."  
  
Slowly, steadily, the flames died down, glowing a brilliant blue colour as they faded. Breathing hard, Trowa sat back on the perfectly intact hay. That had been too close. He was still so new the small magic tricks he'd begun to practice, sometimes it was hard to keep them under control.  
  
With a relieved sigh he slumped back in the stall, wincing as his swollen hands rubbed against the rough hay. Looking down at them, he saw that the burn was a lot worse than he'd first thought. They were a bloody, blistering mess, raw and red and extremely painful. Instead of screaming and sobbing out his pain, like any other eight-year-old child, Trowa bit back his cries of pain. He'd learned long ago that any sign of weakness meant 15 more whips of his father's belt, or worse, his fists.  
  
"What's going on back there? Magdalan, is something bothering you, boy?" The soft, feminine voice coming from the back of the stables had Trowa scrambling for better cover. What if the woman found him and reported to his father that he had been ghosting around their stables and bothering their prized stallions?  
  
He had just found a nice, dark corner in the back of one of the stalls when he saw a pair of small, booted feet pass by his stall. In the next stall he could hear the horse; obviously Magdalan, skittering nervously around in his stall.  
  
"Shhh, shhh, it's alright sweetheart. What's wrong, big boy? Did something give you a fright?"  
  
The gentle tenderness in the her voice lured him out of his stall and he took a peek over the board, only to duck back down again when his eyes met clear, blue ones. He didn't look up from his place in the shadows when the woman's small boots came into view. He had this crazy notion that she was going to take that horse whip she held in her gloved hand and start whipping him with it.  
  
"Hi there," she said kindly, "You must be Trowa Barton, the famous Gosfridus's son. It's nice to meet you," her gloved hand came into view but he didn't take it. He didn't dare show her his bloody hands.  
  
"Can you look at me, Trowa?" Came her gentle voice again, and finally, he was forced to look up into her sky blue eyes. He realized with a start that she wasn't a woman at all but probably a teenager, and from the look of her immaculate clothes and perfectly groomed blond hair, he guessed she must be a member of the palace.  
  
She smiled at him, a smile so sweetly innocent she reminded him of an angel, or what he supposed an angel would look like, with her softly flowing short, blond hair and angel's eyes. "There now, I can finally look upon the face of the most handsome heir in all of Germany.  
  
Trowa blushed hotly, looking down again.  
  
She laughed, "Well Trowa, why don't you tell me why you're all the way out in here, instead of inside with my little brother?"  
  
He looked back up at her, surprised. Did she mean Quatre? The small, blond boy with the deep, blue-green eyes? She did look something like him, could she really be his sister?  
  
She must have seen the questions in his eyes because she held out her hand again, "I see you must have met Quatre," she chuckled, "Hope he didn't scare you, I know he can be a little over...exuberant at times, but he just thinks the whole world should be just as happy as he is. He'll make a great leader someday..."  
  
Trowa watched a faraway look come into her eyes and tried to edge past her outstretched hand but he accidently brushed up against her arm and she looked down at him with a start, as if she had suddenly just realized he was there. Then she tilted back her head and let out a lilting, melodic laugh, "How silly of me, I didn't even introduce myself," she held her already oustretched hand toward him, "I'm Iria Winner, one of Quatre's many sisters.  
  
Trowa hid his hand in his sleeve as he shook her hand, hoping she wouldn't find it strange that he was holding it that way. "It's nice to meet you, Miss. Iria. I'm sorry I startled your horse, I was just..."  
  
"Oh, don't think a bit of it." another soft trill of laughter, and Trowa realized what the small, blond boy and Iria didn't share in looks, they certainly shared in personality. How more cheerfully angelic could one be?  
  
Deciding he needed a better hiding place, he carefully manoeuvred himself out from the stall to a side door of the stables. "Quatre had to go to his lessons, and I wanted to see the horses, but I have to go now."  
  
He was just out the door when he heard her voice, "Trowa, come back here, please." he considered pretending to not have heard her, but the lessons on manners that had been pounded into him from birth, had him stopping and turning around, going back into the stables. Out of habit, he hung his head as he walked slowly toward her, just as he always did when his father used that tone of voice, knowing that if he looked him in the eye, the punishment would be more severe. He hated being afraid.  
  
"Trowa, show me your hands." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
Looking up her, he muttered quietly, "I can't."  
  
She crossed her arms, looking like a stern mother hen. "Why not?"  
  
"I hurt them when I fell down, and I don't want to you to see them, I think they might upset you. Can I go find my personal servant?"  
  
"Blood and gore doesn't bother me, can you show me?" she took his hands in hers, they were still covered by his sleeves.  
  
Seeing no way out, he held out his hand. She took it gently and pulled up his sleeve, letting out a gasp when she saw his hand. "Oh, Trowa...this is a very serious burn!" she looked into his face intently, "What happened?"  
  
"I was...it..." He couldn't get it past his tongue, his reply had somehow logged itself in his throat and he was glad that it had. The small, meaningless magic tricks he practiced were private and somehow special to him. He hoped to maybe someday get good enough to show them to a crowd of cheering people. They were the only soothing, comfort he had left after his encounters with his father; he couldn't have them taken away now...  
  
"If I tell you, will you tell my father?"  
  
Iria frowned concernedly, "Of course I would. Your father would want to know that you were badly hurt, any parent would!"  
  
Trowa shook his head angrily, "No," he muttered. "He wouldn't care. He'd just get angry."  
  
Looking at a loss for words, she knelt down so she was more level with him, "Tell me what happened." The look of sympathy in her eyes was blatantly obvious.  
  
"I was playing with matches, and I burned myself."  
  
She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. It was a complete lie and she knew it, but instead of saying a word, she got up and took one of his hands in hers. "Come on, I'll have Mahalah take a look at those hands and see what she can do about them." she paused. "Then we'll see about telling your father.  
  
Mahalah, it turned out, was one of Quatre's many sisters. She was currently home for a few weeks of the summer, taking a break from med school. At first her rock hard jaw and no nonsense eyes had made him wary, but her gentle hands took away his worries as they gently soothed his hands with cream.  
  
They had found her sitting patiently at the bedside of a small dark haired boy in one of the out buildings. He had overheard Mahalah explaining to Iria that this small tenant's son was suffering from a very serious case of pneumonia. Feeling guilty at first, he'd tried to convince Iria that he was alright,but both the women had forced themselves on him, and now he sat uncomfortably on an old cot with Mahalah's head bent over his hands and Iria hovering over both of them.  
  
He studied Mahalah's short, chopped brown hair and blunt, boyish features and realized she didn't look anything like Quatre either. She didn't even share his cheerful flamboyant nature.  
  
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Mahalah shook her head as she finished wrapping the gauze. "I don't know what you got yourself into kid, but those hands of yours must hurt like a hell dragon."  
  
He gave a curt nod, "Yes ma'am."  
  
She tilted her head and studied him a minute, then nodded as if in acceptance of his response. "You're a tough little thing I must admit, but also a foolish one. You tried to put out the fire with your hands, didn't you?"  
  
Iria let out a shocked gasp and he averted his gaze.  
  
Mahalah sighed and smiled grimly, "Just as I thought. Iria? Will you watch Ahli for me for a while? I'm going to take young Mr. Barton here back to the palace. Send a servant to me, if his condition changes."  
  
Iria nodded, "Of course. But Mahalah..."  
  
Mahalah turned back to her at the door. "What is it?" she asked bluntly  
  
"Trowa doesn't want his father to know about what happened to his hands."  
  
Mahalah brushed her off, "Oh don't worry about it Iria. Would you want your father to know that you'd been playing with matches and done something stupid? Of course not! Now please, little sis, let me handle this."  
  
Iria nodded her consent but Trowa could feel her eyes on his back as he left the small house. Pity, he hated pity.  
  
He followed one step behind her as Mahalah led the way toward the Winner palace. She led him into the palace, up a side stairway to what must have been the Winner family's private rooms. They stopped at a door near the end of a second long hallway and Mahalah raised her hand to the closed door, knocking softly.  
  
She turned to him and gave him a stern look, "I'm going to leave you with Rashid, Quatre's personal body guard for the rest of the afternoon. Quatre won't be finished his lessons until after supper, and you need stay out of trouble and let those hands of yours heal or else they'll end up looking like a bunch of bloated raw hamburgers for the rest of your life.  
  
Trowa gave her a severe look out of the deep green eye that was visible from his long bangs, but said nothing. It had been an out and out lie just to stick him somewhere and he knew it. He also knew that he wasn't going to convince her not to tell his father about what had happened, and he could feel the familiar cold prickle of dread run up and down his spine.  
  
Turning back to the door Mahalah knocked harder, "Rashid, are you in there?" No response. She gave another loud knock, harder this time, "Rashid!" Still no response. She banged her deceptively small fists furiously against the hard wooden door, "RASHID YOU OPEN THIS DOOR IMMEDIATELY!!" Nothing.  
  
Trowa smiled, and unfortunately Mahalah caught him. Her expressive hazel eyes opened wider and she jabbed a finger at his chest, barely touching him. "Not a word kid, do you hear me? Not a word."  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her, finding himself enjoying her little loss of temper. She growled at him, then tuned around, raised her sturdy looking work boot, and kicked in the door. Trowa bit back another grin and followed her into the room, finding himself admiring this strange woman he'd only just met.  
  
Trowa's first impression of Rashid was of a very large, lazy and overpowering man. He was lying spreadeagled across a giant Kind sized bed, fast asleep and snoring like thunder. He wondered if that was what a giant would look like if giants were real, or maybe an ogre? All Trowa knew was that he did not like big overpowering men, he didn't like men period. And he certainly didn't relish the idea of being stuck in this room all afternoon, alone with this giant.  
  
Mahalah threw up her hands and grumbled something about lazy nincompoops who slept on the job, then left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.  
  
The giant on the bed slept all afternoon and well into the evening while Trowa sat quietly in the corner by the window, perfecting the marble trick that he had failed to keep under control where it would have cost him the painful aching in his hands. He hoped his father would continue his long meeting with Quatre's father. He hoped the giant man sleeping on the bed didn't wake up. He hoped Mahalah forgot to tell his father about his little escapade. He hoped, he hoped, he hoped... Hope wouldn't do him any good he thought bitterly. It never did.  
  
The bed creaked ominously as the giant whom Mahalah had called Rashid shifted. His loud, rythmic snoring had stopped and he was mumbling sleepily as he rolled over on the bed. Trowa shrank back in the corner, trying to make himself as invisible as he possibly could. Grumbling and growling, the bearded giant rolled off the bed and lumbered from the room, rubbing his eyes as he went.  
  
Warily, Trowa crawled from his hiding place, looking around, then resumed the card trick he'd been practicing. A while later, Trowa woke from the tight ball he'd curled himself into on the floor of Rashid's bed chambers to the sound of the door crashing open. He blinked sleepily at the dark shape that stalked toward him. God no, it couldn't be...  
  
The light switched on and the room was flooded in light. His father stood over him like a prison guard come to take the prisoner down death row. "I know why you're in here, Trowa." his father's voice was calm, monotone, "You were making trouble in the stables, bothering the horses, playing with matches. I'm very disappointed in you, Trowa. That's no way for the sole heir of the Barton clan to be acting in a guest's house, you know that."  
  
Trowa felt a chill go down his spine as his father moved closer to where he was still half lying on the floor. He knew better than to move, or to look up, to even say one word. He didn't expect his father to reach down and grab one of his bandaged hands, pounding it against the wall with one of his meaty fists. He flinched at the pain, but was grateful it wasn't his face his father had been aiming at with his fist.  
  
"Pathetic I say! Probably burned them just to get some sympathy!" his father's voice turned calm and controlled once more, "You're going to have to be taught a lesson, Trowa."  
  
He could feel his father's rough hands reach down, haul him up then hurl him onto the big bed He hit the frame with such force his head knocked back against it and he saw nothing but stars. The sound of leather whispering through material warned him of what was to come.  
  
Never saying a word, Gosfridus walked over to his son, tore off his shirt and cracked his whip of doom as Trowa liked to call it. Trowa silently endured the painful slashes to his slready, small, weak back, closing his eyes he went off into the private place in his mind where no one could find him; no one could ever reach him, not even his father.  
  
When his father was done, he put his belt calmly back in his pants and left his small son, curled up on the bed, shivering from pain and anger. The door slammed. Someday; the small 8-year-old child promised himself, he wouldn't be afraid anymore, he'd get bigger, he'd get stronger, and someday, his father wouldn't be able to hurt him anymore. Someday, no one would ever be able to hurt him. Someday...  
  
And that was how Quatre found him, curled up on his body guard's giant bed, bandages on his small hands, bloody slashes down his slim back and an expression of utter hopelessness on his face. 


	3. A Ray of Hope

Our chief want in life is somebody who can make us do what we can. Having found them, we shall hate them for it. -Ralf Waldo Emerson  
  
____________________________________________________________________~*~  
  
"Trowa..." Quatre couldn't believe the scene before him as he walked slowly into the room. He'd come looking for something in Rashid's room when he'd realized the room wasn't empty. Could that trembling heap on the bed really be the proud, silent boy he'd met earlier today? "What ha-happened to you?!"  
  
Trowa imidiately hid his face and tried to roll off the bed when he saw who it was that had come into the room, but only succeeded in shooting more pain up his back and into his hands. "Leave me alone."  
  
Quatre switched on the light on came further into the room, closer to the bed. "Oh! What...how-how did this happen?!"  
  
Trowa gave no answer, simply lay there and stared at the ceiling. Quatre moved toward the bed, reaching out a hand to the other boy's thickly wrapped hands. Trowa jerked away from him. "Get away. Don't touch me."  
  
Quatre stared at Trowa with worried concern, not sure what he was supposed to do in the face of the boy's hostility, only knowing that he had to do something. He reached over to touch Trowa's shoulder, "Here, let me see your back, it's covered in blood, it looks like someone-"  
  
"I said don't touch me!" This time the young boy managed to roll all the way off the bed and fell with a thump to the floor on the other side.  
  
This time Quatre simply stood and stared down at him, his eyes wide and innocent, then a frown formed between his eyebrows, "Well, if you won't let me help you, then I'll get someone who will."  
  
His hands useless to him at the moment, Trowa wrapped his arm around the blond boy's ankle and clung, "No," came his fierce reply, "why can't you just mind your own buisness and forget you ever saw me?"  
  
Crossing his arms Quatre attempted to sound just as fierce, "Because you're hurt and I can't just forget about that! Would you like me to just leave you there on the floor, bleeding to death? No! I won't. Now, I'm going to find one of the Maganacs."  
  
Thinking that the injured boy would let go of his ankle, he made a lunge for the door and promptly, fell on top of Trowa. The air was knocked out of him and he lay gasping frantically against Trowa's chest. Seeing his advantage, the bigger boy rolled over and put himself on top of Quatre, caging his hands. "I mean it Quatre," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Just leave this alone, pretend it never happened. You're just going to make the situation worse."  
  
Catching his breath, Quatre pushed against his shoulders. "No! You need help and I won't give up until you'll let me!"  
  
Tilting his head sardonically, enjoying the small bit of power he wielded over the smaller boy, he pushed his face closer to Quatre's, "Like you could budge me."  
  
Quatre's eyes flared in shock, then a determined gleam lit the green-blue depths of his eyes. "Oh yeah?" his male pride which was rarely bruised, if ever, had taken beating enough and he took advantage of the taller boy's injuries, struggling to roll him over. Trowa fought back, but his back was screaming in pain and finally Quatre had him on his back. "Ha!" Quatre's face shone with triumph.  
  
Never one to give up a fair fight, Trowa was soon fighting back with all his strength and both boys ended up tumbling in a mass of arms and legs across the carpet. Hitting the wall together they both struggled to see who could get the other boy against it. The numerous brushes of the blond boy's soft hair against Trowa's naked chest and arms were taking their toll on one of his most guarded, secret vulnerabilities.  
  
Quatre imidiately stopped pushing against his green-eyed foe when he saw that he had buried his face in the carpet and was trembling. "Trowa?" he shook him. "What's wrong, did I hurt you?" he reached out and took hold of his side, trying to roll him over, but only succeeded in doing it partially, but now he could hear strange muffled sounds coming out of the boy. What was wrong with him? Was he crying? he wondered, Trowa, crying? On his second attempt he managed to roll him all the way over and was taken by surprise at what he saw. Tears of mirth were running down his face and he was shaking not from pain or fear, but from laughter.  
  
That's when it finally clicked in. "You're ticklish, aren't you?" Quatre asked with a grin. Having regained control of himself, Trowa gave him his best sullen expression, but he new he wasn't fooling the other boy when he saw the gleam in his eye.  
  
"No! No, I'm-" But it was too late, Quatre fell on him with deadly intent. "Ah! No, stop! Please!" Trowa gasped between helpless bouts of laughter.  
  
Laughing along with him, enjoying this new game, Quatre tickled him mercilessly, somehow, he had the feeling this boy had not laughed very often in his life, if this was the only way he could help another in need, then he would gladly put himself through it.  
  
"Stop, stop!" Trying to give the smaller boy one of his deadly looks, he only succeeded in laughing harder. When he tried to grab his wrists or push his head away, his limbs wouldn't cooperate with him, they were too weak from the merciless torture he was being put through. "Stop! Please I'll do anything!"  
  
Quatre stopped imidiately and tilted his head, "Anything? Like even letting me help you?"  
  
Frustrated, Trowa glared at him, "I told you I-"  
  
The door slammed against the wall so hard, Trowa actually felt the walls shake. Quatre jumped off of him, a guilty look on his face.  
  
"What is going on in here?! Excuse my interuption little brother, but some people are trying to SLEEP!! If you want to rough around with your little friend, then do it somewhere away from my BEDROOM!!"  
  
Trowa was surprised when an older girl with flaming red hair stormed into the room, glaring daggers at both of them. She didn't really seem to be that big though, he wondered if she was always this loud and emotional.  
  
Quatre stood up and scratched his tousled head. "Aw, we were just playing Asghari, we weren't even being that loud. Please don't tell dad, I was just trying to help him anyway, he's hurt."  
  
The flame haired she-devil narrowed her eyes at him and came further into the room. "Hey...I know who you are, you're the famous Gosfridous's son aren't you?" She frowned at him. "What happened to your hands? And...why aren't you wearing a shirt?"  
  
Feeling trapped and wary he backed away from Quatre. What had started out as a bad day had suddenly turned into a series of painful injuries that had all started with his stupidness, if he'd only stayed in the room Quatre had left him in none of this would have happened. He made a bolt for the door and managed to get past the older girl and down the hallway.  
  
"Hey!" came her indignant reply  
  
Then the smaller boy's more gentle voice. "Trowa! Trowa, wait!"  
  
He didn't know where he was running, only that he had to get away. Down a flight of stairs, around a corner, onto a balcony, he could see the stars shining above him. Down another flight of stairs, and finally, he was outside, in blessed darkness with the soothing quiet of the night curling around him like a soft blanket. Finally he was safe.  
  
"Trowa! TROWA!! Where are you?"  
  
Great, now this kid was going to wake up the whole palace and the beating he'd just recieved would be nothing compared to what he would endure now.  
  
He turned around to face the other boy then saw what he'd been fearing, lights were being turned on in the palace and angry voices could be heard, footsteps. "Quatre!" he hissed. "Stop yelling, I'm right here."  
  
A small shape in the night raced up to him. "Why did you go and run away like that? Are you afraid of Asghari?"  
  
Trowa glared at the almost invisible shape. "I'm not afraid of anything." he muttered  
  
"Then why were you running away? I thought we were friends."  
  
He started to reply that he had no friends but was stopped by the sound of voices coming nearer, their words becoming dicernable. "Master Quatre! Master Quatre, where are you!"  
  
Quickly, Trowa grabbed his small arm, "Quatre, is there a place I can hide?"  
  
"I always like to ride out to the desert, there's a place I like to go, it's my secret hiding place. Come on I'll show you!" There was giddy excitement in his voice as he took hold of Trowa's arm and led him further into the night.  
  
Trowa heaved a mental sigh, can't he just leave me alone? Before long, a giant building was looming before them and the voices had faded behind them. It was the stables, Trowa realized. Images of burning hay and an scalding pain flashed through his mind and he halted.  
  
Quatre turned around. "What's wrong?"  
  
Trowa stared at the ground and pulled his arm out of the smaller boy's grasp.  
  
"You're not afraid of horses are you? That's ok, Trowa, Aquilla's very friendly."  
  
He gently rubbed one of his damaged hands with his other one, wincing as it started to burn even more. Why hadn't he just stayed in the tower?  
  
"Trowa..." Quatre stepped closer to him, concern in his voice. Suddenly the sounds of the men could be heard once again, they were coming closer.  
  
Trowa swallowed and looked up at what he could see of Quatre's face. "Let's go."  
  
*********************************************  
  
Arabid Baboi Winner looked up from staring into the fire as the door to his study was quietly closed. Gosfridus Nikolause Barton was a large man from anyone's standards, but then, he always had been big for his age even when they had been younger. Must be all that borsch he eats over in Germany, Arabid thought hiding a smile. Although his son Trowa showed no signs of ever indulging in the usually more fatty foods of his cold country.  
  
"Come sit by the fire with me old friend. How did it go with your son?"  
  
Gosfridus grunted as he lowered himself carefully into a chair. "That boy was up to no good. Never did think he was worth all the trouble he causes." Gosfridus met his eyes from across the room and Arabid was hit with the strangest notion that those familiar smoldering, black eyes were measuring and sizing him up. But of course that was ridiculas. It must be the firelight.  
  
"I give you my sincere apologies that it will not happen again."  
  
He laughed, "Oh think nothing of it Gosfridus. Children will be children."  
  
Gosfridus's expression turned dark, but he said nothing.  
  
Arabid settled back in his chair. "Well now, Gosfridus, what's this I hear of you wanting a second connection with the Winner family? Would this have anything to do with marriage I wonder...?  
  
Gosfridus eyed him from across the room, then chuckled. "Marriage would do great things for both our clans, no?" He pulled a cigar out of a pockets and lit up, letting smoke stream from his mouth before he continued. "Hell, how many daughters is it you have now you 'ole devil? Six? Ten? Fifteen? Wouldn't give up 'till you had your boy hmm?"  
  
Arabid shifted uncomfortably in his seat under Gosfridus's intent gaze. "I never did tell you the whole story did I? We have been best friends since our childhood and it is hard to stay connected when we live so far apart..."  
  
Cigar halfway to his mouth, his hand stilled. "What are you saying, Arabid? That these girls aren't your daughters?"  
  
Feeling his chest tightening, Arabid tried to stay calm. "Well of course they are my daughters, they always have been in every sense that matters. I love them like they are my own flesh and blood.  
  
Gosfridus's eyes flared in shock. "What?! Are you telling me you adopted every single one of them?"  
  
He wondered why his old friend was getting so upset about this, what did it matter if they hadn't come from his own flesh? He loved them just as any father would. "No," he said quietly, shaking his head. "They didn't come from 29 different mothers, they came from 29 artificial wombs that nursed them to life. They're test tube babies, Gosfridus."  
  
Gosfridus reeled back as if he'd slapped him. "What were you thinking?! How could you-"  
  
"What does it matter? They are my daughters and special in every way, they are all entitled to their fair share of the Winner fortune."  
  
Gosfridus fairly spat the word. "Test tube babies. The lot of them! Despicable, disgusting creatures." he sneered evilly. "They're not even real. They'll never turn out to be anything better than worthless sluts and- "  
  
"ENOUGH!! You are my friend, but I will not have you speak of my daughters in such a way. How could you Gosfridus..."  
  
Gosfridus watched cynically as his so called old friend trailed off. A hurt, confused look crossing his face. Pathetic. Arabid had never been one to hide his feelings, or his compassion. He was nothing but a weak, worthless fool who would soon learn that honesty and kindness would be his downfall. When he was gone and past, Trowa would take his place, he would make sure any son of his never turned into the spineless, sniveling fool like he was sure Arabid was training his son to be. Trowa would tear down the Winner family, just as he was meant to do.  
  
He chuckled evilly to himself as he strode from the room and Arabid's stricken expression.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Trowa wondered how much more insane his life could become before this day was over. This was all too much, moving too fast, a thousand jumbled, confusing, painful events all hurled at him one after the other. He needed to get away, find a nice little dark corner to crawl into and never come out....  
  
"Hey Trowa! We're almost here! This is so great, you're gonna love it, I've never showed this place to anyone before!"  
  
As he felt the smaller boy's excitement vibrating against his back, Trowa doubted very much that he would get any peace and quiet for a long, long time. Sighing silently to himself, he stared out into the never ending darkness of the desert and was suddenly glad of Quatre's arms surrounding him, holding the reins of his small horse. This energetic boy helped take his mind off of the barren hopelessness of his life. Everyday waiting for that next beating to come...  
  
"We're heeeere!" the boy sang out in a sing song voice, letting go of the reins and easily leaping off his horse. "Hey Trowa, do you need any help? Your back looked like it got hurt really bad."  
  
Trowa gave a sharp jerk of his head and glared down at the boy, realizing even then that the boy probably couldn't even see him. "No," he muttered determinedly instead and attempted the quick leap off the horse as Quatre had. And failed miserably.  
  
"Oomph!" he landed on the ground with a sickening thud and felt the welts on his back start to bleed again.  
  
Quatre rushed over and fell to his knees beside him. "Oh Trowa! Are you all right? Are you hurt? Do you need me to go get Rashid? Or maybe I can get Mahalah...yes Mahalah's really good at fixing-"  
  
Brushing him aside, Trowa got to his feet unsteadly and staggered a few feet away, hoping Quatre would get the picture and leave him alone. He gave a silent sigh of relief when he heard his footsteps treading in the other direction, then a small glow of light lit up the darkness of the night and illuminated a small alcove of rocks nearby.  
  
"Hey Trowa! Come see my secret hiding place, I got a really good stash of cookies here and some clothes if you want a shirt!"  
  
Wearily he watched the small fire Quatre had started and the small shape of the blond boy as he huddled over the fire, trying to make it bigger. Cookies did sound good, he hadn't eaten all day, and he did need another shirt... Still a little unsteady on his feet, he walked over to the little alcove and sat down on the giant embroidered rug that was spread across the stone bottom. He also noticed several boxes of cookies, a flash light, a small sleeping bag, a large thermos and a pile of clothes all sitting in a corner behind Quatre.  
  
Quatre sat back on his heels and grinned at him, then reached back behind him and grabbed a bundle of clothing, shoving them into his hands. "Here, you're probably cold even though this fire is pretty warm. I made it myself you know," he held up a box of matches proudly. "I come out here all the time you know, when no one knows I'm gone, and..."  
  
Only half listening to the blond boy's excited babbling, Trowa selected a huge, brown shirt from the pile of clothes and pulled it over his head, frowning as he felt the strange material rub against his skin.  
  
"....in fact I don't even think Rashid or the maganacs know about this place, so we can sleep here tonight. You're the first person I've ever shown it to. Isn't that great? I mean this is like our own secret place where no one knows about and we can come here allll the time! Hey, do you want some cookies? And some herbal tea? Well of course you are. Mr. Barton said you couldn't have supper because you were bad and I thought that was really mean and it was your first day here...."  
  
Quatre happily chattered away in his soft, excited voice as he handed Trowa the a box of cookies and a cup of some strange red substance. He didn't really like the smell of it, or the taste but he forced down both. Feeling oddly at peace, he felt his muscles, which had been tense most of the day start to loosen and he finally let himself relax, finding Quatre's soft voice and even his presence soothing.  
  
"Did your father do that to your back, Trowa?"  
  
The boy's words startled him back to reality and his gaze flew up into the blue-green depths of his concerned eyes. "Hn." he muttered uncomfortably.  
  
His eyebrows furrowed. "But why? How-how could he do such a thing to you? You're his son and-"  
  
"It doesn't matter. Don't talk about it."  
  
"But-but..."  
  
He gave Quatre a hard look and he didn't say anything more. They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, the only sound that of the desert animals going about their night lives.  
  
"Trowa...I...I have to know, did your father do that to your hands too? I can't just not talk about this! Your father's hurting you and I want to help you and I have to know-"  
  
"No." Realizing this boy was not going to leave well enough alone, Trowa decided to distract him, at least for a while. He studied his bandaged hands, then flexed them hesitantly. "I'll show you." He gently pulled out the marbles from one of his pockets and threw them into the air, ignoring the pain that it caused his aching hands as he juggled them through the air.  
  
Quatre watched in wide eyed wonder as the crystal spheres began to glow and change colours, little images beginning to appear in each. For the first time he seemed at a loss for words.  
  
He concentrated and suddenly little images of the blond haired boy began to appear in each orb.  
  
"Wow Trowa! That's amazing! Are you a magician? Or a wizard? That would be so cool! You have to show me how to do that! Wait-you said your father didn't do that to your hands... does that mean that these did? But how and- "  
  
"Hn, your stables were going to burn down, I had to stop it."  
  
Turning his eyes slowly from the twirling fire balls, Quatre met his eyes. "You mean...you tried to put out the fire with your HANDS? Trowa, that's crazy! Is that why your father beat you? Becuase of THAT?! But that's awful, how could he do duch a thing and because of that..."  
  
Trowa put his head in his hands and sighed, why had he even told him? Now he was angrily ranting on over something that shouldn't even matter to him? He was acting as if he really cared what happened to him, but that was crazy, no one cared about him and certainly not his beatings, no one would dare call his father an unfair man, no one would...  
  
His thoughts suddenly came to an abrupt stop when he felt Quatre's small arms surrounding him, pulling him into a fierce hug. "Don't worry Trowa, I'll make sure you have the best summer ever with me, and I'll protect you.  
  
Staring up at a sky almost completely covered with clouds, a small smile played across Trowa's face andhe felt a glimmer of hope spread through him as he thought about the long summer days ahead of him. 


	4. A Bond of Love

"I see.a camel."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"Oh.and over there! See-it's a bunny."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"And that one! That one looks just like a bird taking flight."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"And you see the one right beside me? That's Trowa Barton. He's a real dolt head because he never listens to a word I say."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"Trowa!" Quatre giggled, giving his friend a shove in the shoulder.  
  
Trowa didn't budge, but he crack open one of his emerald green eyes and look over at him. Sitting up, Quatre crossed his arms and tried to give his friend a stern look as he stared down at him. He could barely conceal his laughter as he watched Trowa close his eye and settle himself more comfortably on the grass. Ankles crossed, arms cradling the back of his head. It was hard to imagine that it had only been three weeks since Trowa and his father's arrival at the Winner estate. It felt much longer than that; probably because it had taken Trowa so long to open up to him. But they'd been inseperable ever since Trowa's first night at the estate. One of their favourite pass times was lying up here on this grassy knoll overlooking the Winner grounds and pointing out interesting cloud formations to each other. Or rather-Quatre pointed out the interesting clouds.  
  
Busy searching the sky for the crocodile shaped cloud Quatre had been certain he'd spotted, he didn't notice Trowa's slender arm snaking towards him before it was too late.  
  
"Hey!" he yelled, tumbling down the hill from the force of his friend's shove. Laughing, he reached out and grabbed Trowa's ankle as he rolled past and dragged Trowa down the hill with him. The two laughed and took turns shoving at each other as they somersaulted down the hill. It was a familiar game they played together. Whoever reached the bottom first would run and hide somewhere while the other had to go looking for them. This was always an easy task because the two had played the game so often that both knew where the other's favourite hiding spots were and neither of them would ever think of changing tradition by finding a new hiding spot that the other didn't know about.  
  
Rolling over completely on top of him, Trowa neatly pinned his much smaller friend beneath him. Grinning down into his face, Trowa winked his one visible eye and then leapt up and took off around a tree before Quatre had even blinked.  
Quatre rolled to his feet and took off after Trowa. "Get back here, you cheat! I'm gonna get you for that! Just you-"  
  
He ran headlong into Abdul. "Oof!"  
  
Abdul went flying, his red cap falling askew over his eyes as he crashed into the tree that Trowa, just seconds before, had gone racing around. Quatre fell with him, landing with a thud on his chest. Quick as a leap frog, he was up and heading after Trowa. Abdul's hand stopped him.  
  
"Master Quatre, wait! I've been looking all over the palace for you. You and Mr. Barton must come with me immediately."  
  
Quatre frowned down at the grass stains covering his clothes and then stared longingly off in the direction that Trowa had gone, "Aw, Abdul.me and Trowa were playing hide-and-seek!"  
  
Shaking his head impatiently, Abdul took hold of Quatre's arm again and steered him towards the Winner estates, "No time for that, now, Master Quatre. We have to get you cleaned up and in the parlour-immediately! Come, Master Trowa, I see you up there in that tree."  
  
Leaping down gracefully beside Quatre, who was dragging his feet behind Abdul, Trowa gave Quatre a questioning look.  
  
Just as lost as Trowa was on the reason for Abdul's hasty rush to the parlour he shrugged. Then grinned up at his taller friend. At least with his best friend by his side whatever unpleasant fate lay ahead of him-he would be facing it with Trowa.  
  
Abdul led them through a side door and up the stairs into their adjoining rooms where they both changed into clean clothes before heading down the main stair case into the parlour. It was not a pleasant sight that met them. Standing in the doorway to the same room that Quatre had met Trowa and his father in only a few short weeks before, Quatre could see where both his father and Mr. Barton sat together on one of his grandfather's favourite leather back sofas. Quatre did not take it as a good sign that they were both glaring towards the doorway where Quatre and Trowa stood shifting awkwardly.  
  
"Quatre, I'm glad you and young Mr. Barton were able to join us. It must be difficult to find time out of your busy schedules to greet your father's dear friends." Arabid gave his son a stern glare as Quatre came to stand beside him.  
  
"You snivelling little excuse of a son-get over here!" Quatre winced at the vicious words Trowa's father hissed to him as he dragged Trowa roughly over to stand behind him. When Mr. Barton grabbed Trowa by hair to bring his face down on a level with his Quatre made to step towards them but his father stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.  
"Quatre." he warned, then gave a false chuckle and gestured across the wide expanse of the room where a familiar massive shape sat squashed into a pink chaise.  
  
Helpless to stop the soft moan that escaped unbidden from his lips, Quatre turned his eyes as if in slow motion towards the stocky shape that stood hunched in the shadows behind the chaise. If Mr. Orthello was here that could only mean one thing.  
  
"If you ask me, Mr. Winner, I'd say that both Quatre and his little friend here deserve to be punished. You said so yourself; my father is one of your dearest friends and I personally find it unspeakably rude that these two little boys caused us to wait such a tremendously long time." As he spoke, William stepped out of the shadows in all his English glory of starched pantaloons that didn't reach his ankles and barely held in the girth of his massive stomach. Standing only a little taller than Quatre himself, with broad beefy shoulders that stretched the seams of his navy straight coat and hands the size of a small roast, William Orthello was the biggest boy that Quatre had ever met. His size also made him perfect bully material.  
  
"Why," William continued, "I'm sure such important gentlemen as your selves have much more important matters to attend to this afternoon than to sit drolly in this old parlour waiting for your highly discourteous children to find the manners in themselves to come and greet their important guests."  
  
Mr. Barton let out a bark of cruel laughter. "Right you are, my boy, right you are." Shifting in his seat he turned eagerly towards Quatre's father, "What say I take these boys up to my room and give them a good lesson in courteous behaviour.?"  
  
Mr. Winner looked at a loss for words for several seconds, his shocked expression quickly turning to one of rage which, if Quatre wasn't mistaken, was directed towards Trowa's father.  
  
"Uh.father, Trowa and I apologise for being late to greet your guests. Perhaps we could give William a tour of the stables?" Hoping to stop the storm that he felt brewing in the air, Quatre swivelled towards William and gave him a tight smile, "As you have visited the Winner estates several times before I thought.I thought you might like to see the new installations that have been put on the stables!"  
  
His father's face was still beet red, but Quatre was relieved to see that his plan had worked to calm his father down, "Ah, yes.yes of course, Quatre. Just what I was thinking. You three run along now and Quatre-? Give William the full tour. I'm sure there are many things that he has forgotten about in the past year or so."  
  
Quatre bowed to his father and the two men and then walked swiftly out of the parlour with a sneering William and a brooding Trowa in tow. Oh boy, he thought, this is going to be a looong summer. Strangely though, he couldn't keep the grin from spreading across his face. Why am I feeling so happy? He wondered. Is it because I know that no matter how bad things get with William, I know I'll have a friend like Trowa around to help me fend him off? Quatre grinned at the thought. The rest of the summer lay ahead of him; hot, sweltering and-bearable.  
  
"Quatre, are you aware that your little friend here is from Germany?" William asked, his voice dripping with disdain.  
  
Casting a curious glance over his shoulder, Quatre saw that Trowa and William were walking side by side, each of them jockeying for a position behind him. Trowa was shooting William such vicious looks that Quatre almost burst out laughing.  
  
"Um." he began, "Well yes, actually, I did know that Trowa was from Germany. Why do you ask, William?"  
  
"Well, it snows in Germany. All the time! And this is the desert, for goodness sake. Quatre, his skin is going to burn up. Just like in that vampire movie Edward and I watched." He sniffed, "I just can't believe you have been careless enough not to consider this!"  
  
Quatre could almost feel Trowa's disgust emanating in waves towards William. At eight years old, Trowa may have been skinny and helpless to stop his father's physical torment, but he was not defenceless, as Quatre well knew. And far from reluctant to use the skills he'd learned to protect himself from his father's casual brutality.  
  
"That kid can punch." Rashid had told him solemnly a few days ago, while he rubbed his then discoloured cheekbone. Rashid had been trying to coax Trowa to take a bath as he had Quatre do every night. Trowa, sweat, sand and all, had remained mutinously stubbourn to the notion that he needed a bath.  
  
William's voice quivered when he spoke, "Quatre.he's looking at me strangely. Why is he looking at me like that? Make him stop! What's wrong with him, Quatre? He hasn't said one word since I've met him. Is he mute? Deaf? Retarded?!"  
  
Sensing Trowa's body tightening behind him, Quatre reached back a hand and without looking let it slide down Trowa's arm until it reached Trowa's hand which he grasped gently and gave a reassuring squeeze.  
  
"Trowa's just not feeling very well right now, William. That's why he's not talking."  
  
He felt Trowa jerk his hand free from his grip, but not before giving him a quick squeeze back. Like most physical displays of affection, or any emotion for that matter, Trowa was uneasy about showing his. But he was learning: Quatre was determined to teach him.  
  
William stared warily at Trowa, "Well, if he's not feeling well then he shouldn't be out in this heat."  
  
Quatre bent his head and coughed politely to keep from laughing. Finally someone William wouldn't dare bully. "I'm sure Trowa will be fine, William. Let's go look at the stables."  
  
He could feel Trowa and William's eyes boring into his back as he led the way. Trowa hated arrogant bullies like William and William hated any kid who was bigger and stronger than himself. The less physical dominance he could exert over them. Trowa may not have matched William in sheer size, but he was taller than him. Quatre knew they would both want to kill him when they got him alone later, but for now, he was content to sit back and see what happened.  
  
The stables ahead were bustling full with stable hands and Maganacs alike. Iria had told him that one of the horse shows was soon to be held in a nearby city. He saw her up ahead, grazing several of the horses along with three of his sisters. All four of them looked up and waved as they came up to the fence. Iria set down the pale she was holding and loped over to them. William sniffed at the dirty brown overalls and old work gloves she was wearing. He wondered if William had ever seen a lady wearing anything but a dress. His father had changed his strict attitude on the dress code of Quatre's 29 older sisters in the past few months. Quatre thought it was because some of his sisters had moved out of the estate or had gone off to colleges, but Rashid had a different idea.  
  
"He's given up, Quatre-sama. Not that I can blame the poor man after having to raise those she-devils almost all on his own."  
  
"Quatre! Trowa!" Iria vaulted over the fence and scooped him up in a big bear hug, twirling him around. "How's my favourite little brother?" She leaned over and kissed his nose, her blue eyes twinkling. Quatre flushed, wishing William weren't standing right there. He didn't mind it if Iria gushed all over him in front of Trowa because Trowa often suffered the same treatment. But this would give William perfect ammunition to use against him when he got him alone later. And William would get him alone.  
  
"Well, I'd have to say he's been quite impolite to me, Lady Iria. He was late to greet my father and I, and he and his friend have been making fun of me all day."  
  
Iria finally noticed William and set him down, "Hello, William. I heard that you were coming for a visit. Welcome back."  
  
William mumbled a reply and looked pointedly at him, as if hoping that Iria would reprimand him, but Iria had already turned to Trowa. "And hello, Trowa, how are you today?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
Iria smiled and got down on her knees in front of Trowa. "Now let me see those hands of yours, Mr. Barton. I know it's been six weeks, but that was a bad burn you got and they're still healing.  
Quatre almost felt sorry for poor Trowa, he knew he hated being babied, especially by a girl.  
  
Trowa's ears turned bright red and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "They're fine."  
  
"Trowa Nickolas Barton, you show me those hands of yours this instant!"  
  
William snickered and Iria glared at him.  
  
Reluctantly, Trowa pulled his hands from his pockets and held them up to her. Quatre winced at the familiar sight of the blisters and angry red welts covering his friend's hands. Trowa had told him the whole story weeks after it had happened. He smiled at the thought. Trowa sure hadn't been very friendly at the start. But it was difficult to tell either way how he felt most of the time because of his blank expression and his tendency towards silence. Until you got to know him that is.  
  
"My Lord! What'd you do, drop one of your little toys in the fire place and try to get it out?" William sighed dramatically, "Children, when will they ever learn?"  
  
Trowa flew at him. Before Quatre had even blinked, Trowa had William down on the ground, fists pummelling at whatever body part he came in contact with. Quarter heard a distinct crack and knew it must have been William's nose.  
  
Uh oh.  
  
"Oh my God! Trowa, Trowa no!" Iria raced over to the two boys, grabbing at Trowa's shirt and trying futilely to yank him off a now whimpering and sobbing William. But Trowa was too big, even for Iria.  
  
Quatre stood back and watched. He knew there was nothing he could do for Trowa or William. Trowa was in no state to listen to reason and he'd probably just get knocked over. Besides, he kind of liked seeing William as the terrified and blubbering victim for a change.  
  
Soon a group of nearby Maganacs noticed the fight and came running to the rescue. But by the time they reached a curled up and blubbering William, Trowa was long gone; leaping off William in an instant and racing away like a jack rabbit across the yard, around the fence, and through the barn.  
  
"Oh dear, I think his nose is broken!" came Iria's startled gasp from among the gathering of Maganacs who had immediately rushed to William's aid. Quatre knew for a fact that William was made of tougher stuff than that. With a perception that Rashid had often found surprising in his young master, Quarter knew that this show had a lot more to do with wounded pride than a broken nose and from the fierce shrieks coming from the throng that was growing ever larger, it sounded like William was milking his part as the innocent and slain young prince for everything it was worth.  
  
And of course William was going to make everything look as if it had been all Trowa's fault. Trowa may have gone a little out of control for a few seconds there but in Quatre's opinion, he deserved to punch someone who needed punching after being helpless at his father's own fists. No, this was not Trowa's fault at all. But there was nothing that Quatre could do for Trowa. Who was going to believe Trowa over William when William was so good at manipulating adults and Trowa's own father was against him? Mr. Barton was going to kill Trowa now. And his father and Rashid were still telling him that how Mr. Barton chose to treat his son was none of anyone's business. That was so unfair that Quatre often felt like throwing Asghari's crossbow at Rashid and his father these days.  
  
Feeling a deep pit of despair welling up inside of him, Quatre turned and raced for the stables. He knew exactly where Trowa had gone. Reaching Aquilla's, he readied his small horse for the long ride ahead. He noticed that Asghari's small, black stag was missing from the next stall and smiled to himself. If Asghari ever found out that Trowa had been riding her horse he was sure to meet the wrath of her sword, and maybe even her crossbow.  
  
Still smiling to himself, Quatre rode off into the desert.  
  
He found Trowa in their secret hideout where he knew he'd find him. It was the only place Trowa had where his father would never find him.  
  
Trowa had his back to him and was hunched over with his knees pulled up to rest against his chin. His slim back was trembling violently. Slowly, creeping up behind him so as not to spook him even more, Quatre knelt behind Trowa and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Trowa.?"  
  
Trowa spun around so fast Quatre lost his balance and landed on his back in the coarse desert sand. Before he knew it, Trowa was leaning over him, pinning him into the sand. Fierce green eyes bored into his and Quatre could see the rage burning in their depths.  
  
"It felt good." Trowa hissed out from between clenched teeth.  
  
Quatre stared unwavering back into his friend's eyes, not daring to blink, fearing that Trowa would pull away from him at any time now. With his own astute perception, Quatre knew it wasn't the physical distance that he was afraid of Trowa putting between them; but the emotional distance. Quatre felt both honoured and humbled that Trowa trusted him enough to show him the true face of his fears and weaknesses instead of the blank mask he showed the rest of the world.  
  
"He was pathetic and weak and I was stronger than him. Do you hear me, STRONGER!" Trowa was shouting out his words now, viciously spitting them out as if they were scorpions that had somehow infested his mouth. Finally, as if drained of all his energy, Trowa collapsed sobbing against his chest. Quatre could feel his friend's heavier weight pushing him into the sand, but he ignored it, stroking gentle fingers through Trowa's sweat dampened hair.  
  
"I'm so tired of being afraid." Trowa muttered quietly against his shirt, keeping his wet face hidden against Quatre's chest.  
  
Quatre stared bleakly up at the clear blue sky.  
  
"I hope you know that.that you're my best friend."  
  
A smile too sad and all knowing for any eight-year-old to wear upon his face curved the corners of Quatre's lips.  
  
"I love you, Trowa." 


End file.
